


What Does it Feel Like?

by PropShopHannah



Series: Throne of Glass prompts and asks [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, I Love You, Manorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:11:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PropShopHannah/pseuds/PropShopHannah
Summary: Anonymous asked:1 year anniversary of Dorian killing his father. Dorian acts weird all day. Manon notices and tries to comfort him???





	

It’d started at breakfast.

Dorian Havilliard had sat down three seats away from the group and had only picked at his food. He hadn’t spoken either.

Not when Manon had seated herself across from him, not when she’d stopped eating her food and had stared at him–unmoving–for over two minutes. Not when she’d offered to tell him how the night watch with Abraxos and the Shadows had been fine. Not even when she’d told him that after breakfast, all she had to do was clean Abraxos’s sleeping stall before she’d have the whole day to sleep or do whatever she wanted.

Nothing.

He’d only nodded, picked at his food, and mumbled that her day sounded fun.

Something had to be wrong with the king because he never missed an opportunity to help her with Abraxos. Not when finishing faster meant they could spend time together in bed.

She’d tried not to bristle at the obvious dismissal.

Then Aelin had come over and sat right next to him. Manon had eyed the queen–a question. But Aelin had only shrugged back. Manon hadn’t missed how Aelin had sat closer to Dorian than she should have. Hadn’t missed the way the queen had given Rowan a sympathetic look.

When Aedion had handed out tasks for the day, Aelin had volunteered to take Dorian’s. Manon had cocked her head in question to both the queen and Rowan, but neither deigned to look at her. She’d watched as the queen pat Dorian on the back and told him to take the day off. She’d looked at Manon then–as if to say the witch should comfort the king.

Manon raised an eyebrow is disgust. She would do no such thing. Aelin had rolled her eyes and strut away.

Something was wrong, and it pissed Manon off not to know. She didn’t know why it pissed her off, but it did. She’d removed herself from the table too quickly and had then made her way to Abraxos.

She’d spent the next few hours cleaning the wyverns bedding and making sure he had clean water. When she was finished, Manon was exhausted. She’d been up all night on watch, and after seeing to Abraxos, her body ached and she desperately needed a shower. It didn’t help that she was still angry from Dorian’s dismissal, or that she’d become accustomed to falling asleep only after he’d bestowed his _attentions_ upon her. They’d spent the last three months sharing a room at the war camp, and as much as she wanted to fall into bed and sleep until dawn, she craved _other_ things that came with sharing a bed with the king first.

When she got to their room, Dorian was lying on the bed reading a book. A glass of whiskey balanced on his chest.

“You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach,” she said.

“It’s fine.” He hadn’t even looked at her.

She dropped her armor–no reaction. She stripped herself naked–no reaction. She walked around the bed and into the bathroom–no reaction. She closed the door.

 _Fine,_ she thought. _He’s not beholden to me, and I don’t care._

Manon spent the next few minutes scrubbing herself clean with hot water and soap. When she was finished, she dried her hair as best she could and threw on the black robe she always wore. The robe Dorian loved to take off.

She exited the bathroom and prowled around to the dresser. She let the robe fall to the floor–and took her time finding something else to wear. Eventually, she pulled on an oversized sweater and leggings. She walked to her side of their bed.

Dorian had a fresh glass of whiskey. And for a fast reader, it sure looked like he hadn’t turned a page in his book. She eyed him.

“What’s wrong with you?” she said, pulling the covers back and climbing onto the bed.

“Nothing.” She had no idea what to do.

“Clearly,” she said. He looked at her then. She jerked her chin to his book. “You’ve been reading the same page since I arrived.”

He said nothing. She continued.

“You didn’t touch your breakfast, you didn’t offer to help with Abraxos, you didn’t bat an eyelash when I walked around naked–twice. You’re drinking. You never drink.”

“I guess I’m just not in the mood.”

“Since when?”

“This morning, last night? I don’t know. Why do you care?”

Manon blinked.

She hadn’t expected those words to hurt. Hadn’t expected to suddenly feel sweaty and embarrassed and… _hurt_. She turned her back to him and settled into bed, staring hard at the far wall.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to feel, or what exactly she _was_ feeling.

When had she started paying so much attention to his behavior? When had she started expecting his attention and affections? She didn’t need it. She _didn’t_ need it… right?

She swallowed hard. Her throat felt thick, her eyes were starting to sting. _What is this?_ she thought. _What’s happening to me?_

She felt him shift on the bed. Heard the book close, heard him set the glass down–he touched her shoulder.

She whirled around–iron out.

“Don’t touch me.” Dorian looked taken aback by the venom in her words, in her body. He wiped a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He moved back to his side of the bed. Manon thought he looked weary. She told herself she didn’t care and laid down, putting her back to him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She said nothing.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a prick today.”

“I’m trying to sleep, Dorian.”

He sighed. She felt him lay back down on the bed. A few minutes passed.

“I killed my father a year ago today.” Manon stilled. She remembered what he’d told her that day in the marshes. That he’d killed his father and most of his court.

She didn’t know what to do. What to say. Didn’t know how to comfort.

She rolled over to face him. He was staring at the ceiling, dark hair curled around his blue eyes.

“Your kill was justified,” she said.

“Was it?”

“He killed the woman you loved. You’ve a better reason than I.” Dorian looked at her–understanding softened his featured.

“When?” he asked.

“I was a witchling. I thought he was just another human my grandmother was using to teach me how to kill.” She shut her eyes against the images of the man she’d helped her grandmother carve into pieces. The images that had haunted her since she’d learned the truth about her heritage. She felt hot. Her throat too thick, too dry. “He was handsome. Had a beard. I remember thinking it was odd how he’d begged for my life–and not his own. My grandmother told me that he was trying to trick me. That men would say anything.”

Dorian reached over and ran his fingers against Manon’s–coaxing them away from where they clutched the bedsheets. She loosened her hold and watched as he gently took her hand in his. She looked from their joined hands to his face.

“When did you realize he was you father?” Dorian said quietly.

“On the boat after you’d rescued me. I had a dream about it, and when I awoke, I remembered.”

They were silent for a long time. Dorian returned his gaze to the ceiling, Manon studied the side of his beautiful face.

“Do you ever _miss_ him?” she asked. Dorian stilled.

“Sometimes.” His throat bobbed. “Do you?”

“What does it feel like? To miss someone?” Dorian turned on his side and looked at her. Studied her. Gently ran his thumb across the back on her hand.

“Like you’ll never be ready to say goodbye, even though they’re already gone. Like you’re caught between ocean swells and have just enough time to take a breath before the next wave crashes over you. Like you’re a thousand miles away from the woman you love, even though you’re lying next to her on a bed, holding her hand.”

He rubbed his thumb across her skin.

“Then, yes,” she said too quietly. “I miss him. I miss what we might have had, what might have been mine.”

Manon had never thought about what it would be like to have a father. She knew what mothers should be like, act like. Had seen them enough times among the Ironteeth. But fathers… that was never something she’d even considered.

There was an ache in her. An ache that longed to know what that would have been like to have a father, to learn from one. She wondered what he might have taught her about males, men–what he might have taught her about how to interact with them, comfort them. How to be friends with one, love one, call one your family–

“Do you miss _her_?” Dorian knew who she was asking about. He saw her jaw clench slightly, her throat bob, saw the subtle increase in how many times she blinked.

“Yes,” he said, squeezing Manon’s hand. “I loved her once. A part of me might always love her, but I’m not sure how long we would have been together, how long we might have lasted.” He stared at Manon. At the silver lining her eyes. “I’ve learned that there are ways of loving someone that are deeper and more profound than I’d ever imagined. I’ve learned that there is a difference between loving someone and being _in_ love with someone.”

He brought his free hand up and ran the back of one of his fingers along her bottom eyelid. He felt the wet of her unshed tears against his skin. He’d never seen her cry before. Wasn’t sure if she’d ever cried before. He thought that this might be the closest she’d ever come.

“I am in love with you, Manon Blackbeak. I have been for a long time. And I’m sorry I acted like a complete ass today. That I didn’t just tell you why I was upset.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said. A moment passed. “What does it feel like? To be in love with someone?”

“Like you’re drowning in starlight, and you have just enough time to inhale before the next wave of that person crashes over you and takes your breath away. Like you’re a thousand miles away from the one you love, even though you’re right next to them. Like you could die from happiness–and would die to protect it.”

He stroked a knuckle down her cheek–wiping up the few tears that fell.

“Yes,” she said. “I am in love with you, Dorian Havilliard. It’s been that way for a long time.”

**[END]**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm PropShopHannah on tumblr


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